


Nothing Stays

by AdorabloodthirstyKitty



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, Gen, Nonbinary Character, Overdosing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorabloodthirstyKitty/pseuds/AdorabloodthirstyKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've been feeling really down lately so I thought I'd write it out a little. I really need to stop putting my precious clown through so much emotional turmoil</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. On Your Way Out

It's one of those bad nights. One of the nights you don't want out of the coon, don't want to be all up in the world of the living. One of those nights you can't bare to slap on that painted grin, and you pray for forgiveness with bare, un-smiling face.

Loneliness settles in deep, pulling at your pusher and burrowing deep. You pull out extra tins and get ready to bake.

You're about half a dozen pies in when someone comes up in your hive. The loneliness, hopelessness, all pushed back and ignored with the help of sopor. You just let your sylladex shuffle around and throw colors, and don't motherfuckin think, don't motherfuckin notice. Don't notice a voice calling, don't notice firm footsteps. Your vision is unclear, going black and fuzzy and soft. Feels like dreaming, like no shit can touch you, no pain can reach. You're floating above everything, the writhing in your guts and hurt in your pump biscuit nothing but a memory, a daymare. You ain't ever felt so free in all your nights.

Something pulls you out of dreaming, slow and persistent. You turn your head, movements sluggish, and between the bouts of darkness and the fuzziness you see a figure, short and stout and nubby, blurry but there. You smile.

-

 


	2. Rebuild

_Overdose._

You know it as soon as you see them, sprawled out and barely moving, barely breathing. You almost run to their too-thin form, falling to your knees to check their pulse. You call their name over and over like a mantra, like a prayer. Gamzee, Gamzee, wake up, _Gamzee_! They barely move. Their pulse is too slow, too light. You curse and babble and call them again and again, and just as you're about to slap them or pull them into your lap and cry their ocular flaps twitch open, lashes fluttering. They look to you, the blacks of the bulbs too big, too unfocused.

And they smile.

They see you while they're dying on the fucking ground, and they _smile_. Your pusher breaks and you pull their limp, skeletal body toward you.

You've read over the mediculler reports on OD'ing trolls. You need to pump their stomach. You need to get that shit out NOW. You pull them closer, lifting them so they're slumped against you, somewhat upright before reaching around, apologizing quietly, and sticking your hand into their mouth, finger hitting something at the back of their throat that instantly makes them jerk. You pull your hand away just as they bolt forward and lose the contents of their stomach, nothing but bright green. They wretch and spit for a couple minutes before groaning, looking to you much more focused then before. They look confused and hurt, obviously confused as to why you made them puke. You could kiss them you're so relieved, but you don't. They still have bile on the corner of their mouth, and you become painfully aware of their bare face, devoid of clown makeup. You're not even religious but you avoid looking them in the eye, knowing how important, how sacred the paint is to them.

Their voice is hoarse when they speak, wincing as their voice cracks. "Bro, what the fuck?"

You stare blankly, realizing that they didn't know what was happening, that they could have fucking DIED, and you need to count to five a couple times, backwards and forwards, to calm yourself before replying.

"Gamzee, you were overdosing. You could have died if I hadn't gotten here."

They blink at you for a couple seconds, still confused by the suddenness of everything before their face seems to pale, features becoming a bit rigid. They swallow.

"I didn't- didn't mean to- aw fuck."

They slump forward, head in hands, pulling lightly at the curled mess of hair as your words sink in, as the gravity of the situation hits them. Their body rocks back and forth ever so slightly, and you notice a small shiver crawl down their spine, their whole body shaking just barely.

You realize they're crying when they duck their head lower, another, bigger shiver wracking their body, a silent sob.

"Gamzee?"

They curl up on themselves, shaking their head. They won't show their face.

"Gamzee, come on. Look at me."

They shake their head again, still hiding their face. You huff out a sigh, scooting closer to their hunched form. You put a hand on their back to try to soothe them but they jump, obviously not expecting you. Their eyes are bright and shining with lilac-tinged tears as they look to you, and your pusher breaks again.

'I'm sorry' is the first thing out of their mouth, and you feel your brows furrow in confusion. They just continue, eyes far-off, unfocused. _'Sorry, sorry, sorry'_ , over and over. They say it so many times that it doesn't seem to mean anything, just something to say, something for them to focus on as they rock and stare at nothing, breathing coming faster. You realize they're having a panic attack right in front of you, murmuring the apology, hands tugging painfully at their curls. You grab their hands, disentangling their long fingers from the mass of thick curls. They still mutter the apology, more to themselves then anything, and you duck down to catch their eye. 

"Gamzee? Gamzee, come on, look at me. Come on, Gamz." They finally look up, their gaze sharper, more focused. Before you know it your hands are running through their curls, wiping tears from their face. They shudder, another sob making their breath hitch. You shoosh them as gently as you can, pulling their skinny frame closer for a hug. They don't react much at first, seeming to freeze when you wrap your arms around their shoulders in a hug. But eventually, little by little, they relax, before suddenly slumping against your shoulder and bawling their eyes out. 

You don't know what happened, what brought them to this point, but for now you stay quiet, running a hand along the knobs of their spine, frowning when you feel every vertebrae and rib easily. Their whole body heaves with their cries, tears soaking the shoulder of your sweater through. You rub their back, run fingers through their hair, and shoosh.

Eventually, after what feels like hours on your knees, holding them as they cry, they sniffle to a stop. They pull back, running the back of their hand over their face, wiping away snot and purple tears. Their eyes are downcast, long black lashes fanning out along sharp cheekbones, face blotchy and ocular flaps puffy and purple, like two black eyes. They run both hands over their face, wiping the tear tracks off their bare face, and eventually look to you. They give a very small, sheepish smile that doesn't reach their eyes. They open their mouth to speak, probably to wave off your concerns, to say it was nothing, but you don't let them. 

Instead, you lean forward quickly, wrapping them up in an even tighter hug, face squashed against a bony shoulder. "Don't ever be sorry. If you want to talk about it, we will. Whenever you want. I want to help."

You pull away to look them in the eye. "I'm here for you. I always will be. 

Their eyes are still shiny from crying, their lip quivering slightly at your words before they swallow, pushing back another onslaught of tears. They nod. 

The rest of the night and into late morning, you stay curled up with them. Eventually they tell you about the loneliness, the feelings of inadequacy. The way no one seems to care, why would they care, until you set a hand on their shoulder and tell them that anyone would be stupid not to care about Gamzee Makara. It takes a lot of convincing, but eventually their frown turns up into a very small smile.

You know one feelings jam won't fix the things that are broken inside them, won't fix the loneliness they feel, the fear that anyone, everyone can leave just as easily as their piece of shit custodian. But you'll spend every day and every night trying just to put a smile on their face and to make them know how much you care about them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been feeling really down lately so I thought I'd write it out a little. I really need to stop putting my precious clown through so much emotional turmoil


End file.
